Harry and the Yuletide Engagement
by TheKid200182
Summary: Harry is elated. Mere weeks after Voldemort’s defeat, he is going to propose to Ginny! But the inadvertent exploits of the bumbling Weasley twins might just get in the way of Harry’s and Ginny’s happiness! Written for Sink In Your Eyes Christmas Engagemen
1. Act 1: The One Ring

Harry Potter and the Yuletide Engagement

Summary: Harry is elated. Mere weeks after Voldemort's defeat, he is going to propose to Ginny! But the inadvertent exploits of the bumbling Weasley twins coupled with a more shadowy opponent might just get in the way of Harry's and Ginny's happiness! Written for Sink In Your Eyes Christmas Engagement 2006 Challenge. My first challenge fic, please don't be so harsh if I accidentally break a ruling…

Disclaimer: I do not own any quotations, characters, anything by JK Rowling or anyone else, nor do I intend to gain any monetary benefit by my usage of stuff not belonging to me here.

Author's Note: I have done my best to stick to the rules, but forgive me for exceeding the 10, 000-word mark! It's a really nice story, please please read and review!

Challenge: As thick as Harry can be, he finally realizes he's madly in love with Ginny and wants to spend the rest of their lives together. Therefore, over the Christmas holidays in his seventh year, he plans to propose to Ginny. He expects he will be staying with the Weasleys at the Burrow.

The Weasley Twins like Harry and Ginny and try to ensure they have a lot of quality time to share over the Winter break. Their plans actually interfere with what Harry has in mind. Harry tries to dodge the twins' plans and still make his proposal special.

The author's challenge is to write a story to include:

1. Describe Harry's adventure in getting the perfect ring.  
2. Explain three things the Twins do that interfere with the couple and how Harry gets out of one of them.  
3. Tell how one person nearly ruins all of Harry's plans.  
4. Describe Harry's proposal to Ginny.  
5. Describe a very unusual Christmas Day.

Rules:

1. All general submission rules apply. Huge stories over 10,000 words are discouraged but not prohibited. R-rated stories are allowed but discouraged. Judges are not required to read stories over 10,000 words or any R-rated stories.

2. All entries must be submitted under The Christmas Engagement (6-2006) sub-category under SIYE Challenge and be submitted by midnight EST, December 31, 2006. But I might not be home this New Year's Eve at midnight to close the Challenge.

3. Multiple chapters are allowed as long as all the requirements are in the chapter(s) that are submitted by the deadline.

4. The categories for judging are Best Overall, Very Romantic, Humor, and Adventure.

Bonus phrases for extra creativity are the following. Using any or all of them is not required. A good, creative story will always count much stronger than any bonus.

· "Look at all this stuff"  
· "And the ruby means…what"  
· "Are you sure about this"  
· "There is no bloody way he/she could know"  
· "Now, if we could only get him/her out of the way"  
· "You mean all night"  
· "If your brothers only knew…(what)…"

ACT 1: The One Ring

The Burrow,  
21 December, 2006.

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,  
Just like the ones I used to know,  
Where the treetops glisten,  
and children listen,  
To hear sleigh bells in the snow…"

As Harry hummed to the song's refrain, lying lazily in the snow, he half-closed his eyes, leaned back and drank in the scene before him.

Snowballs and the occasional hex whizzed about in the Burrow's garden. Fleur and Bill Weasley laughed as they exchanged jinxes and snow that splattered against hastily-conjured Shield Charms, while Hedwig soared above the fight, nipping in and attacking one or the other occasionally .

As Fleur shot a volley of snowballs at Bill, the long-haired Curse Breaker cried out as he appeared to trip on something and fall. Seconds later, a gnome hared across the yard, as Bill pelted the creature with a hailstorm of pebbles and icicles, Hedwig in hot pursuit from above. Fleur hugged herself tight and laughed.

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,  
With every Christmas card I write,  
May your days be merry and bright,  
And may all your Christmases be white…"

Off to one side, among the bushes that separated the garden and a few hundred acres of forest, Charlie searched anxiously for Ron and Hermione with Stinging Hexes and firecrackers.

"Oi, Harry! Think Ronniekins has got Hermione in a broom closet?"

"I think you'd better check the broom shed at the other end!" called back Harry.

"I'll Apparate there immediately!"

"Better not go right into the shed, because my left ear is tingling," said Harry.

"And what does that mean?"

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,  
With every Christmas card I write,  
May your days be merry and bright,  
And may all your Christmases be white…"

"That someone is snogging passionately, why of course." Mrs. Weasley's kitchen radio switched to a Weird Sisters number – Amortentia Dementia – as the final notes of the Christmas hit faded away.

"I'll check Stoatshead Hill then, in case Ronnie wanted somewhere more…private." Chuckling, Charlie Apparated away.

A head poked out of Percy Weasley's room, red-headed and red-faced, long hair falling past her shoulders. Piercing dark-brown eyes with a flash of irritance in them took in the scene, then the head pulled back in as the louvred windows slammed shut.

The framework glowed red for a short moment, as a myriad of privacy charms and a Silencing Spell struck the window.

Smiling, Harry drew out his wand, and muttered "Expecto patronum!" He had just come to a snap decision that he had been pondering about these past weeks, and this was it. No turning back. This is for life!

A silvery stag slipped out of the wand-tip, looking expectantly at Harry. As he stroked it, the stag nuzzled him and nipped his ear lovingly.

"Go tell Ginny this, 'I love you when you're angry and all red in the face.' Go on." And he patted his Patronus's stately neck.

The silvery stag leapt into the air, cantering across nothingness as if there was a bridge between Harry and the window. It gave a mighty bound and passed through the wall.

"Psst! Mate! Is the coast clear?" came a hiss at Harry's elbow.

"Yeah, they're gone," said Harry quietly.

As Ron pulled the Invisibility Cloak off him, a flushed Hermione sat up, patting snow away from her rumpled winter clothes, trying and failing to look dignified and nonchalant.

"You could try moaning a lot less, Hermione," murmured Harry.

She had the grace to look embarassed. "Shut up, Potter."

"What a nice way to thank your benefactor for his Invisibility Cloak. I'm quite surprised Ron wasn't slurping as much as I thought he might," said Harry, thoroughly enjoying himself. "Though that might be because your tongue was wrapped around his…"

"Harry…" said Ron, gritting his teeth threateningly.

"Okay, okay," he said, raising his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm going to Diagon Alley, guys. Want anything? Lip balm? Oysters?"

"HARRY!" raged Hermione, while Ron goggled at him.

"Blimey, mate, what can you do with oysters?" he said.

"I heard that oysters are a great aphro…"

"Tarantallegra!" shouted Hermione, brandishing her wand.

Harry began to shake uncontrollably, both from the frenzied speeds that his legs were tap-dancing at and also because he was laughing like a madman. He could barely enunciate the counter-curse properly; indeed, he accidentally did a Fanfare Charm and the resulting blast sounded like an entire herd of elephants blowing away for their lives.

The last thing he saw as he Apparated to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was a fuming Hermione and Ron flourishing his own wand.

"Harry…!"

Red hair and green jackets crowded around him as Harry found himself in the basement of Three-W Diagon Alley, as a certain female newscaster had nicknamed the shop last week, while making hungry eyes at George Weasley. He had become Witch Weekly's Second Most Eligible Bachelor two months ago, but the Most Eligible prize still belonged to Harry.

"…our kind benefactor…" George shook a hand…

"…absolutely corking…" Fred took up the other…

"…positively delighted…"

"…to see you, mate." The Weasley entrepreneurs boomed in chorus.

"Yeah, hi guys. I was just passing through, stopped by to see how you lot are doing. Haven't seen you much around the house, Fred."

Fred Weasley turned a red enough colour to match his hair. "Oh, er…work…" he said unconvincingly.

"Angelina Johnson," muttered George under his breath, as he rummaged about in a giant-sized vat or barrel labelled "BREATH EATERS – One Nasty Breath Mint!" and smaller stickers on it that said "Repugnant Rubbish" and "Stinking Socks" and so on. A nasty smell wafted from the barrel. It reminded Harry forcibly of the time Dobby had insisted on serving blue cheese at Hogwarts.

Fred gave George a kick to the seat of his pants that made him stumble off the stepladder he was using and fall into the breath mint barrel.

"I'd like to feed Lupin a barrelful of those," said Harry, pointing at a smaller crate of "Malodorous Mush", one of a series that Fred was emptying into the large barrel.

"Yeah. That werewolf needs something to get him away from Tonks," said Fred. "That stuff oughta stop them snogging for a while. So, what's Mum cooking for dinner?" asked Fred eagerly. George could be heard struggling chokingly inside the barrel.

"Oh, Mrs. Weasley mentioned she's getting a couple of pheasants, so she can practice for the turkey and celebrate Mr. Weasley's promotion at the same time…I assume she meant the birds are for all of us, not just Bill. You heard what he did to the rack of lamb we had the other day?" replied Harry.

"You ought to see what Fred does to Angelina's rack," came a muffled voice from within the barrel.

"OI!" yelled Fred. He ran two steps up the ladder, wand in hand, and dove into the barrel head-first. "Merlin, this stuff stinks. I tell you, George, we should sell it four Sickles the ounce. Duel, George? What d'you think, Harry…Densaugeo!"

"Four Sickles it is. If they're well-received just raise it to five Sickles and tell them your suppliers are running out."

"But then the Daily Prophet will…Stupefy!" There was a flash of red light.

"…start hunting…" Now a blue bolt of sparks shot out of the barrel.

"…for nonexistent suppliers!" A yellowish flash lit up the room momentarily.

"These Breath Eaters are…" There was the tap-tap-tappity-tap-tap of Fred Weasley under a Tarantallegra spell.

"…home-made like every other…" A silver jet of sparks ricocheted around the room. A few spilled Breath Eaters dropped to the floor.

"…Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes joke item! Enough, old chap!" The twins struggled to the top of the barrel. Fred looked dazed, and George sported dragon's ears coming out of his head.

"Exactly," grinned Harry. "Someone once said, 'All publicity is good publicity.' Besides, I can still remember those nice articles they wrote about me all through fourth and fifth year. We could give them a red herring to fill in their time."

"Harry…"

"…you're a genius…"

"…absolutely spiffing…"

"I got to go, guys," said Harry, heading out the door. "See ya then!" As he passed by Verity she smiled and waved at him.

The front of the shop was full of little customers and not-so-little men and women who giggled madly, goggling with amazed expressions at the formidable array of tricks, jokes and sweets available in the store.

Harry quickly walked through the scrum at the counter, and only a few kids glanced wistfully at him. He knew what they were thinking – cool, he works at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes!

As he passed by the Breath Eater barrel, he wondered what the remaining Death Eaters – they had scattered after Voldemort was destroyed – would think of the three-quarters-empty bin of sweets. Two kids were horsing around outside trying out the "Putrid Puke" and "Foul Fart" flavours.

Harry set off towards Gringotts.

A bell tinkled as Harry stepped into the bank. A goblin rushed up to him, and bowed respectfully.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. Come to inspect your vault, is it?" grimaced the goblin.

Harry smiled at the goblin's demeanour. He knew the grimace was a goblinish smile. It was the only expression of humour they allowed themselves.

"Yes. I think I'll require Griphook's services on this one," he said. "Er…if you don't mind."

"Certainly, sir. Would you care to sit, sir," and the goblin gestured at a waiting area to Harry's left.

"No thanks," said Harry hastily, seeing a huge party of Ministry employees chattering away animatedly on the lounges.

The goblin followed his gaze with a grimace.

Griphook soon arrived out of a side door. Harry saw that a tuft of hair to the back of his head was singed, and the goblin appeared more rattled than usual. There was no sign of the usual grimace the goblin had when seeing Harry. However, his demeanour was that of a traditional English butler, polite as ever, greeting Harry like he was a lord.

"Good afternoon, sir," said Griphook. "Vault number six eight seven, I presume."

"Yes," said Harry. "Lay on, Griphook."

"With pleasure, sir."

He didn't look like he was pleased, mused Harry.

"Griphook," said Harry, as they whizzed through the air in a trolley, "is something wrong? I notice that…"

"Ah, it is too bad," said Griphook, the familiar grimace on his face once more. "It is not good that a goblin bring his feelings to work."

"I won't tell anyone," said Harry quickly.

"The dragons are getting restless," said Griphook. "Your friend, Charlie Weasley…he has taken leave for five days. The dragons miss him." And Griphook fondled his singed hair tenderly.

"It's more than that, isn't it?" prompted Harry. "What's the matter?"

"It is…" Griphook paused, then went on. There was a wild light in his goblin eye. "There is this…goblin-girl. Arachnea…she is very…attractive. But another vies for her hand, and Griphook has no idea how he is to win her, for though her heart is with me her father favours the other, who is rich and powerful."

And Griphook looked so despondent that Harry reached out a hand and patted the goblin's epaulettes. "It will work out," said Harry. "It did, for me."

"And I suppose the visit to six-eight-seven is for the express purpose of…consulting the family jewels?" grimaced Griphook, with a good-natured snarl. He turned to look at Harry but his head snapped back forward as a fork appeared in the track ahead, deftly turning the cart to take the right-hand path.

"Something like that," chuckled Harry.

"If I may help then, sir," said Griphook, drawing himself up. "Griphook is best in jewelry among all Gringotts," he said proudly.

"Oh, yes, thank you," nodded Harry. "I want the ring to be as special as possible."

"Would that I could taste the joy of love myself," sighed Griphook wistfully.

"You will," said Harry.

Vault 687.

As they stood before vault six eight seven, Griphook stroked the door tenderly, and it shrank back to reveal Harry's parents' vault – now legally his since 31st July.

Griphook handed him a sheet of parchment. "Your account statement, sir," he said. "Twenty thousand one hundred and thirty-one Galleons, sixteen Sickles and twenty Knuts."

Harry took the parchment sheet from the goblin. "How did my parents ever amass this much?" he asked.

"An Auror's pay is much higher than most Ministry employees, save for Unspeakables of course – nobody knows what exactly they do – and your father was a better than average Auror, who received many bonuses for his exemplary work. A trainee Auror's starting salary is seven hundred Galleons a month, as well as a broomstick – I believe the Comet Two Sixty is standard-issue now."

"What did my mother do, Griphook? Was she an Auror too?" asked Harry.

"No," said the goblin, with a grimace. "She was an Unspeakable." And his tone of voice told Harry he would say no more.

Harry digested this piece of news, and stuffed the parchment sheet into his robes. He stepped into the vault, beckoning Griphook to follow. The goblin did so, after a slight moment's hesitation.

"What is that?" asked Harry, pointing at a chest on the floor, tucked away at the corner of the room.

"Ah, yes," said Griphook, and he walked over to the corner. "These are the Potter family heirlooms. I daresay you will find several interesting jewels in here with which to impress your…Weasley companion."

Harry snorted. Moving to join Griphook in the corner, he watched as the goblin carefully opened the top of the chest.

The entire inside of the chest was covered with velvet. The chest had two tiers. The upper one held a tiara, similar to the one Fleur had worn during her wedding, and several pearl necklaces and bracelets were tucked into side compartments flanking the tiara.

"Look at all this stuff," said Harry.

Griphook removed the upper layer and revealed an array of rings and earrings. The centerpiece was a wedding ring – undoubtedly his mother's – sitting side by side with a male wedding band that Harry knew was his father's.

The wedding ring was feminine, silver, plain, with a single fiery ruby set in the wedding ring, small, petite. It matched James Potter's ring, which was somewhat wider, gold, with an emerald set in the middle. Slightly thicker too. It was a masculine ring.

"Precious stones carry a meaning, you know," said Griphook. "Must be chosen carefully, they must."

"And the ruby means…what…?"

"Ruby," said Griphook. "It speaks of passionate love. It speaks of a virtous wife. It is the July birthstone. It suits well," he added, "for your mother was born in July."

"And this," said the goblin, holding up James Potter's wedding band. "The emerald is May's birthstone, which also fits your father's birth date. In fact…"

"Where did you get these from?" asked Harry, interrupting Griphook's spiel.

"Eh?" said Griphook.

It would be the first time – indeed, the last time as well – that anyone had ever seen a gobstruck goblin, for they don't generally make it their's business to be astounded, confused, stunned, and the like. Always cool, always prepared are they, the essence of respectful, dignified servitude that typify a traditional British butler…or at least in front of other creatures.

"How did they get here?" asked Harry.

Griphook recovered himself beautifully. "Your giant friend, the one who loves animals…Hagrid, I believe?"

Harry nodded.

"He and the Hogwarts headmaster, Dumbledore, arranged for your parents' possessions to be moved into Vault Six-Eight-Seven. Gringotts staff went to the house on the morning of 1st August, nineteen eighty-one - once the Dark Lord was confirmed to be vanquished. I was there myself, as a young goblin. We removed the furniture, the utensils, everything, and stored them in Gringotts for safe keeping."

Griphook fell silent. Harry kept his head averted, hoping the goblin would not notice the tears beading in his eyes.

"But we were at the rings, sir, so which one catches your fancy?" asked Griphook.

"I don't think these are right, Griphook," sighed Harry. "I'll make a withdrawal though, remove about two thousand Galleons for a new ring."

"Very good, sir. Two thousand Galleons is a wise sum indeed."

Harry took the coins, and, placing a Weightless Charm on his moneybags, he left the vault.

As Griphook prepared to drive off, Harry turned to look at him. The goblin matched his gaze somewhat unwillingly.

"I sincerely hope you will succeed with Arachnea," he said.

"And I, in my turn," said Griphook, with a wide grimace, "am eternally proud to have the honour to be the first to congratulate you on your marriage to she who will soon be known as Mrs. Ginevra Potter."

Diagon Alley.

Harry had noticed a jeweller's along the right side of Diagon Alley. With a quick look around to make sure no red-heads were present, he ducked into Hector Rodimus's Gold and Pawn Shop, which appeared to have no customers inside.

He failed to notice the witch who sneaked in behind him and concealed herself with a Disillusionment Charm. Instead, Harry stared, awed and slightly lost, at the myriad assortment of jewels and gold bands that glistened in reflected sunlight from every corner of the room.

An elderly wizard with snow-white hair and thick spectacles appeared in the room from a door at the back of the shop. His rheumy eyes travelled northwards from his emerald eyes to the lightning-bolt etched in his forehead.

"Harry…Harry Potter," wheezed the old wizard.

Harry shifted his feet nervously. "Er…yeah, hi, er…could you…uh…could I see your engagement ring displays?"

Hector Rodimus smiled a knowing smile. Stepping back, a flick of a wand made a case of rings fly from the back of the shop, nearly braining Harry, who ducked down in time – with the aid of his Seeker's reflexes – to avoid getting hit by the over-eager display box.

"Shall it be a traditional diamond ring, then?" began Mr. Rodimus, "but I don't quite think diamonds suit you. Far too often they symbolize misery and misfortune. Perhaps a star sapphire set in a band of gold?"

"Not too big, please," said Harry. "I…er…don't want it to be too big…sort of a, small design would be nice…"

"Ah yes," said the goldsmith. "I have just the thing. Two small gold bands, his and hers…the precious jewel will be set in it, not too expensive nor ostentatious, demure, sedate, modest, and you can have any gem you want," he gestured at the display case.

Harry made up his mind. He knew what gem he wanted, knew what was the right one for him and Ginny. His mind flashed back to the gems he'd seen in the vault, and he knew that he had made the right choice indeed.

"I want two rings, one a male wedding ring, one an engagement ring to double as a wedding ring. Both to be identical," he said. "Each set with not one, but two precious stones."

Hector Rodimus stared at the Boy-Who-Lived, now no longer a boy. Slowly, he nodded his head. "Side by side. The union of two in holy matrimony. Yes."

"One will be an emerald, the other a ruby," said Harry. "Red and green. I'd like one ring first, then I'll mail you when I want the other done." Vivid emerald eyes and fiery ruby mane. It was perfect.

"Very good, sir," said Mr. Rodimus briskly. "I have the frame and jewels already. I'll complete the ring tonight and send my bill by owl post tomorrow."

"It's been a pleasure," said Harry, giddy with excitement. He did it! He bought a ring! He was going to marry Ginny!

Steady on, Harry, said a voice inside him. You don't know she'll accept.

But of course she will, Harry told himself, rubbing his suddenly sweating palms together, trying to psych himself up for the strain ahead. I'll ask her out tonight. Bring her out for dinner somewheres, then off we go…yeah. Clean, clear-cut. Very easy, Potter. Simple.

Simple as all hell!  



	2. Act 2: Dinner and Then

_**ACT 2: Dinner and Then…**_

_**The Burrow,**_

_**22 December.**_

"So, Gin, what d'you think?" He hoped feverishly that she wasn't busy or anything tonight. He'd carefully engineered this quiet little moment so that Fred and George were in the shop, Hermione and Ron were shopping for presents and the rest of the Weasley clan was away getting food, food and more food for the Christmas bash.

The girl in question tucked an errant lock of vibrant fiery-red hair behind an ear. Merlin, that was so cute, thought Harry.

"I don't know, Harry," said Ginny, looking downcast. She shifted her posture to her other hip, and placed the pile of books she was carrying onto the kitchent table. "Dean asked me out too…"

Harry felt as if he was slipping into shock…Dean Thomas! His world turned black around him, and he could almost feel his heart crashing into a million pieces as the monster within his chest gave a furious, enraged roar.

"D-Dean?" he said weakly. "D-Dean T-T-Thomas?" Blast that infernal git!

"Gotcha!" shouted Ginny, flinging her arms around Harry and tackling him onto the floor with a crash.

With a flash of realization followed shortly after by a soothing wave of relief, pouring balm onto the little cracks that had threatened to shatter his insides, Harry finally realized he'd been had. He stared up at the girl who sat on him.

With a low snarl and a wicked grin, he lifted himself off the ground and flipped over, so she was trapped against the kitchen floor. While she squirmed beneath him, he methodically grabbed both her flailing hands and immobilized them in a vice-like grip.

"You little minx, you," growled Harry, as he pinned Ginny's arms against the wall above her head, and proceeded to nip her ear with exaggerated snarls. Inwardly, he sighed with relief, the welcome weight of the ring still in his pocket.

Ginny squealed and giggled as he continued his attacks on her delicate face. She managed to slip her hands out of his grasp and wrapped them about his head.

For a moment, they stared into each other's eyes. Harry was mesmerized by the limpid brown orbs that danced before him, and the outpouring of love emanating from each of them stunned him momentarily.

"Gin…" he began, intending to forget everything about dinner and protocol and just ask her right here, right now, but soft lips brushed against his own, and he fell silent.

It wasn't the physical touch, you see. It never is. It is the depth and breadth of the stormy river of that emotion known as love, so wrongfully used most of the time, that stuns you momentarily and shocks you into an alternate universe…where you could just dwell forever in the warmth and fire of the free-flowing love.

Harry felt as if he'd been dipped into a vat of chocolate. Those chocolate eyes stared back at his, then closed to enjoy and savour the love even more. He was aware not of the heat generated by the close contact of two bodies, but of the warmth that stemmed from the girl he loved with all his heart…and who loved him too, with all her heart.

As Harry drew back to admire his loved one, he noticed faint runnels of liquid that ran down Ginny's cheeks.

"Why are you crying, Gin?" he asked softly, kissing each tear as it rounded the curve of her cheeks.

"I felt it," she whispered. "I…I thought I actually felt your soul. Pounding and throbbing and…and…full of love…and…"

"I love you," said Harry.

And Ginny was glad. He knew why, strangely. She was glad he hadn't said something frivolous like, "Wow!" or "Where'd you learn to snog like that?", etcetera, etcetera. The feeling was mutual.

Sometimes he felt too much stock was put on snogging and physical manifestations of love. He just wanted to spend time with her, and feel that tidal wave again that he now knew and identified as Love.

Apparently she thought so too. They walked to the living room, where a merry fire crackled from one of the two fireplaces in the Burrow, and snuggled together on a couch.

"So it's a yes, then?" asked Harry.

"What do you think?" grinned Ginny. "I get to pick the restaurant!" she declared.

"Anything. I just want to spend time together," said Harry. "I think..." he began, but Ginny smothered him with a daring kiss.

Moments later no-one knew what he was thinking, least of all himself.

Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes 

"Oi, Fred!"

George's hearty shout carried across the cavernous depths of the Wheezes basement. Fred Weasley soon appeared on the scene, as George sat down wearily on a nearby crate of Pernicious Pastries. Fred dusted off the section of box that boasted "Guaranteed to Leave You Smelling of Horse Dung for Hours!"

"Something's up, mate," whispered George conspiratorially. "I spotted Harry and his female companion in a jewellers' today. Not with our darling baby sister."

"Bloody hell!" hissed Fred. "Who was with him?"

George actually snarled. Few knew it, but of the pair, he was usually the one with his feet planted firmly on the grounds of reality. He was the one who debunked some of Fred's more fanciful but impractical ideas, and the one who remained the most level headed in times of stress. Fred knew that when _he _snarled, it was big trouble.

"Well, who was it?" prompted Fred. "Romilda Vane?"

"Cho _bloody_ Chang," ground out George between clenched teeth. "Disillusioned, of course. I spotted her entering the shop, though."

"That woman!," swore Fred. "The bloomin', effin', bloody...er...scalawag!"

"Think Potter is cheating on Ginny?" snapped George.

"I don't know. Maybe she's got some Veela or Succubi blood, 'cos I can't see Harry goin' for her when Ginny's right in front of him. You sure you saw her?" asked Fred.

"Yeah. Maybe she Imperiused him."

"Or Confunded him!"

"Or spiked his Butterbeer with Amortentia!"

"Now, if we could only get her out of the way," said Fred, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"We'd be able to snap Harry out of it. Get Ginny to snog him back to his senses or something."

The twins looked at each other.

"The conclusion…" began Fred.

"…is that…"

"…for Harry's sake…"

"…we just gotta make sure Ginny and Harry stick together for the next few days," finished George.

"I heard they're at the Three Broomsticks," said Fred. "Let's move."

_**The Three Broomsticks,**_

_**Hogsmeade.**_

"Why did you pick this place, Gin?" muttered Harry. "It's full of people!"

Fake snow drifted down from the ceiling, magically fading away as it reached head level. Across the bar, Madam Rosmerta was entertaining a crowd of Ministry employees – several adoring young trainees among them – and on the other side, a party of Aurors and Hit-Wizards were apparently celebrating a successful 'hit'.

"We'll be less likely to be overheard, Harry," murmured Ginny. "Unless you want somewhere dodgy like the Hog's Head?"

Harry glanced at her, and made brief eye contact, before hastily taking a swallow of Butterbeer.

"Umm…anywhere would do, Gin…" he said. The ring practically screamed to be announced and given to her.

"Admit it, you were fishing for some drivel. Something along the lines of, 'Anywhere would be heaven, my love, if you were to be with me…' or 'I would follow you to the ends of the earth, Harry!' Admit it!" Ginny had had an illicit Gillywater and was somewhat giggly.

Harry sighed, and looked up in time to see the main course arrive – two spaghettis in carbonara sauce and a lasagna to split – along with two Butterbeers.

Fred and George stepped into the Three Broomsticks, following Disillusioned in the wake of the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team, who made their entrance with great applause. Fred had to restrain himself from running to the fore in order to get Gwenog Jones's autograph, while George was admiring the athletes' fit bodies dressed in somewhat revealing dinner gowns.

"Oi, George."

"Merlin, brother, look at the bodice on Gwenog Jones, it's absolutely fabulous…"

Fred struggled to pull George away from the departing Quidditch players.

"Thank goodness for these Disappearing Robes. They wear off in about an hour, right?"

"Yeah, but let's make this quick. The tentacles are still on my arse from that Tentacula Treat you cooked up."

"Sorry about that. I think essence of Acromantula might disappear 'em."

"There, Fred," whispered George. Harry was sitting in the corner, unobtrusively having a quiet chat with Ginny.

"We gotta make sure she snogs him," said Fred urgently.

"They will, but let's just help make the night perfect. Let's see…"

"Ugh, I can't believe we're helping Harry kiss our baby sister," said Fred, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "He owes us big-time."

"Yeah. Hope he brushed his teeth," remarked George.

The twins glanced at each other at this significant remark.

"D'you have Toothflossing Stringmints?" murmured Fred.

"Oh, yes," nodded George. He produced a packet of mints wrapped up in a paper bag.

"Good, we'll just slip one into his Butterbeer and let him slug it down. They dissolve, don't they? "

"Yeah. Brilliant idea, Fred, old chap."

"Thank you, my dear twin. Step lightly there, old Mrs. Crawston is coming this way. Don't want her to step on your foot."

Navigating two tables and a clumsy waiter who spilled soup all over Mrs. Crawston, earning himself a whack from a bulky handbag, Fred and George tip-toed over to Table Seventeen, and watched as Harry popped open a Butterbeer bottle and poured it into a mug.

Moving extremely slowly so either Ginny or Harry wouldn't catch the slight shimmer in the air of a pair of Disillusioned fingers, Fred dropped three of the miraculous dental sweets into Harry's drink.

"Anything else we missed?" whispered Fred.

"Umm…I think Harry can take it from here," whispered George, not quite liking the soppy (to him) look on Harry's face as the lovebirds spoke quietly of Harry's childhood and Ginny's deepest and darkest desires and whatnot.

Congratulating themselves on a job well done, the twins tip-toed away silently.

The spaghetti had been lovely, the lasagna cheesy and filled with huge chunks of premium beef, and the conversation, indeed, had been scintillating, but the ring still lay in its velvet box, nestled comfortably within Harry's slacks pocket.

Okay, thought Harry. This is it. Here we go. Ginny, I love you. I really really love you. I don't want to spend another day of my life without you. Ginny…will you marry me?

And then lean in for a kiss, immediately after she said yes. Yeah. That was it.

Harry surreptitiously covered his mouth and scrunched up his face, as if yawning slightly. He puffed once, to sample his breath.

Then he choked.

The most putrid, rotten, fetid, rancid, rank, foul, stinking, vile scent assaulted his nostrils, and Harry felt himself almost pass out from the noxious odour. What could have caused this reaction? He himself had bought a packet of Toothflossing Stringmints specially for this occasion.

There was no way he was proposing to Ginny like that.

"Harry? What's the matter, Harry?" said Ginny, glimpsing his pale face. She reached across the table and grabbed his shoulder. "Harry!"

"I…I'm fine," he muttered, trying not to exhale or speak in her direction. "I…uh…I think my spaghetti…may have been…uh…under-cooked or something…yeah…I…uh…gotta go…"

Grimly, he took his leave of a somewhat bewildered Ginny Weasley. He couldn't go to St. Mungo's. This problem could only be cured by one person alone, he realized.

Or rather, two persons, for Harry was quite sure he knew who the culprits were in this bad case of magically-induced halitosis.

Fred emptied his pockets onto the dresser. The duplex apartment above the shop was proving to be a worthy investment. The twins spent more time here, at the shop, than anywhere else. Naturally, nearby accomodations had to be found. It was just too dangerous to attempt an Apparation to the Burrow when you were fagged out at the end of a hard day's work. The apartment fit the bill nicely.

As he pulled out three Dungbombs and a Decoy Detonator, his fingers encountered the bag of Toothflossing Stringmints he'd spiked Harry's drink with. Pulling it out, he caught a whiff of something that shouldn't have been there.

Something along the lines of a Breath Eater. Frowning, Fred pulled out one of the mints. It was speckled pink, the colour code for the Putrid Puke flavoured mints.

"Oh, shit," he whispered.

Fred looked around wildly. George was still downstairs in the shop! Maybe, if he grabbed George and barricaded themselves in the heavily-warded apartment, they could…

Too late. There was a faint crack! of someone Apparating downstairs. Fred could hear George's voice.

"Hey, Harry, I…what the…OI!" A loud crash told Fred that he was in trouble.

"WHAT IN BLAZES WERE YOU THINKING?"

"We thought you were Confunded, Harry, honest, I…"

"CONFUNDED? I'LL GIVE YOU CONFUNDED, I AM _NOT _CONFUNDED, WEASLEY! NOW WHERE'S THE OTHER ONE?"

Fred closed his eyes, and prepared for the inevitable with that famous, rueful, Weasley Twins smile that said _'c'est la vie'_…


	3. Act 3: The Plot Thickens

_**ACT 3: The Plot Thickens…Heck, it Practically Coagulates!**_

_**Diagon Alley,**_

_**23 December.**_

"That Weasley harlot is getting married to the Boy-Who-Lived," yelled the young woman, "and I'm left out here in the lurch!"

The witch paced around the dusty flat, noting with distaste the dirty dishes in the sink, the bills on the kitchenette and the dirty, unmade bed. Freelance reporting for the Daily Prophet had hit a new low, as that infernal toe-rag the Quibbler had beaten them soundly the past few months, riding a wave of publicity following the now-infamous 'Potter interviews'.

Why Harry continually gave reports to the Quibbler and not to the far more reliable Prophet, the witch was certain she would never know. But the question now was, how to stop the impending disaster that was sure to interfere with her own plans for the Boy-Who-Lived?

The witch stopped pacing for a moment, and plucked a false ruby from her fashion faux pas eyewear, and laid it on the table, weighing down the bills. This shoddy piece of workmanship was only good for a couple of Galleons, but hopefully it would stave off the bloody landlady until her big scoop came in.

If it ever did.

There was at least a few thousand Galleons in a vault buried far below Gringotts, but only accessible to the witch if she got her claws into Harry Potter…and now that Weasley woman had gotten the bloody grand prize!

If this kept up she might even have to woo Malfoy. Ugh.

Unless… Unless she, the greatest Prophet reporter of all time, could somehow seduce Harry away from making the biggest mistake of his life. Yes. He would be far better off with her. She could cook, she was a great typist…and…and…and her skills in bed were definitely far more advanced than that Weasley girl! Pah!

So for Christmas this year, her present to Harry would be to show him how well she kissed…amongst other things.

Looking out the window, she saw Harry Potter walk briskly past her and enter a shop further down the street. That was it then. Time to get the boy, she thought grimly, as she hurriedly changed into what she nicknamed her 'seduction suit'.

"Merlin," said Fred, ruefully rubbing his neck where a well-placed Stinging Hex had made him experience a world of pain that would have matched Nearly-Headless Nick's not-so-final moments. "Ever seen Harry blow up like that?"

"You might even have thought that Harry hated us," said George, pulling on his socks gingerly over a massive blister.

"Bet you looked funny though, when he hit you with that last jinx. Who ever thought his Furnunculus Curse was that good?" chuckled Fred.

"It was his favourite back in fourth-year, nitwit. You might try and help me get rid of these boils instead of bouncing around," muttered George darkly. "Can hardly piss without having to…"

"Okay, okay," said Fred hastily, drowning out the rest of his twin brother's words. "I'll look up the counter-curse."

"Blast and bebother the counter-curse! Cho Chang will find him and renew the Imperius or whatever it is she's doing on him. She's supposed to be dating Roger Davies. Maybe if we snap a few photos of him and her together, we'll be able to enlist him to…"

But Fred's hurried flight out of the shop was already announced by the frenzied slamming of doors.

_**The Leaky Cauldron.**_

"An astute choice, Mr. Potter," nodded Griphook.

"Please, Griphook…call me Harry."

He watched as the goblin raised the ring to catch some of the light from the fireplace; snarling in satisfaction, Griphook nodded as the twin ruby and emerald jewels threw dazzling red-and-green light over the table.

The two friends sat in the Leaky Cauldron, a goblet of pumpkin juice for Harry – Griphook had gone for redcurrant rum – and two recently-cleared plates that had once contained leg of lamb in black pepper sauce.

The goblin had decided to spend his off-day in the Leaky Cauldron, and Harry, Apparating to Diagon Alley, had spotted Griphook there. He wanted his friend's appraisal of the ring, and entered the pub immediately.

"But something is lacking, Mr. Potter…Harry," said the goblin.

Harry froze, his goblet in mid-air. "What's wrong?"

"The emerald and ruby represents the union of Miss Weasley and yourself. Green and red, correct?"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

"But that is merely the centerpiece of the ring. What about the band of gold? What unique addition can you make to set off the ring, complement its exceptional design?" Griphook traced the ring with a gnarled finger to emphasise his words.

"What would you suggest," asked Harry. He put down the goblet.

"I do not know, Harry. Perhaps an inscription on the inside? Some loving words, maybe "_semper fidelis_," or "_draco dormiens numquam tittilandus_?"

"The Hogwarts motto? Never tickle a sleeping dragon? Surely you can do better than that, Griphook," laughed Harry, as he drained his goblet of pumpkin juice. "What's _semper fidelis_ anyway?"

"Always faithful. Another popular saying is _semper paratus_."

"Which is?"

Griphook paused for effect before answering. "Always ready, which would give a different connotation altogether."

_It's a record. I'm listening to goblin locker-room jokes_, thought Harry wryly. "Okay. I think I'll spend the next day or two thinking about it. But if I can, I want to propose before Christmas."

Griphook shrugged.

"How goes it between you and Arachnea?" asked Harry.

Griphook grimaced. "I am none too sure about that end, Harry. Arachnea is going more and more insane by every passing day, speaking of elopement, hunger strikes, and the like. However, at least her father is not unwilling to hear my plea."

"I'm sorry," said Harry. He knew how it was, having a loved one and unable to do anything with her. Forced to watch by the sidelines.

"I have to go, Harry," said Griphook, as he called for the bill. "I only took half the day off, and Gringotts has a shipment of rubies coming in from Ophir, as well as several thousand Galleons' worth of star sapphires from Atlantis. They will need my assistance in certifying the valuer's figures."

"Let me get the bill," said Harry.

"Thank you. It was a fine luncheon."

Harry strolled out to Diagon Alley, and decided to head to Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour after taking leave of Griphook.

The elderly wizard welcomed Harry profusely as he walked in. Florean Fortescue insisted on pressing a free peppermint and chocolate-chip sundae into his hands.

"After all," said Mr. Fortescue, "you did save me from those awful Death Eaters."

"Err…yeah…thanks," said Harry, trying to avoid a scene in the crowded shop. Luckily no-one saw the exchange, and he managed to find an obscure booth in a corner to think out his plans.

_**Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour.**_

_**Twenty Minutes later.**_

Lost in his thoughts concerning the ring, Ginny, and the bloody Weasley twins, he failed to see the witch's approach until she was sitting across the table from him.

"Hello, Harry," she cooed in what she imagined was a sultry tone of voice.

The sundae spoon clattered to the table, sliding from nerveless fingers. Harry quickly shut his gaping mouth and picked up the spoon hastily.

"Hi."

Cho Chang wore a spaghetti-strap tank top that bared an impressive expanse of cleavage, the bottom hem reaching to a point just under her breasts, exposing a flat, tapered stomach, all the way to the top of her tight, low-cut, form-fitting jeans. The outfit was somewhat marred by the butterfly glasses that reminded Harry forcibly of Rita Skeeter's eyewear, complete with fake jewels, but it didn't stop male passers-by from doing a double-take.

"I was passing by," she continued, tucking a lock of hair behind an ear. "So, Harry…how's your life lately? Got a girlfriend yet?"

Merlin, she gets down to the bottom of it real fast doesn't she, thought Harry. "Er, ya, sort of," he said. "Ginny." He began eating his sundae quickly.

_**Diagon Alley.**_

"Look, mate, they're in that shop over there," pleaded Fred Weasley. "Just snap a pic of them both, and make sure we get a good one."

"You sure you're not putting me on?" growled Colin Creevey suspiciously. "I'm quite busy you know. There's a photo montage the boss wanted of Diagon Alley, for a Christmas write-up. I only freelance for the Prophet, I can get fired if I'm late…"

"Don't worry. I'm quite sure they're at Fortescue's," said Fred grimly.

"What if Harry finds out?"

"There is no bloody way he could know. You could simply say you were taking pictures of someone else."

Walking swiftly past, his camera slung carelessly beneath his arm, Colin took a couple of discreet shots, pretended to survey the menus and signboards before turning back. The magical Polaroid camera printed out the photos happily.

Fred waited impatiently as the blackness cleared, blowing on the Polaroids constantly. When he got the pictures, he whistled inadvertently.

"Whoa," he said reverently. "You are one heck of a clandestine reporter."

"Since this is for Harry's own good, I'll only charge you a Sickle per shot," muttered Colin.

"You push hard, but it's a done deal. Just make sure Ginny doesn't know that Harry…"

"Doesn't know that Harry what?" came a suspicious voice from behind.

Fred and Colin whirled around, identical guiltily-nonchalant looks on their faces.

"Nothing," said Fred quickly. "Harry just…uh…smashed his Firebolt in a fit of temper…" he said, as Colin tried to put the glossy photographs back into his knapsack.

He fumbled one of them, muttered "Damn!" as a glossy five-by-five dropped to the floor. Fred wasn't helping things by constantly speaking in loud voices at Ginny to ensure she didn't see anything.

"Look, Ginny, dragon liver for eleven Sickles only," said Fred, too loudly, pointing in a random direction.

Poor Colin reached for the Polaroid, but Ginny hadn't been the brightest witch in her year for nothing. Quick as a flash, her wand was out.

"I don't want to hex you, Colin," she murmured. Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Let me see that!"

"Damn," muttered Fred. "Oh, damn…" He fumbled in his pockets for a Dungbomb or Decoy Detonator, but he remembered belatedly that he'd left them all on his dresser.

When she looked up, Ginny's bottom lip was trembling. Fred put out a hand to comfort his sister, but she ducked and ran down to Florean Fortescue's, dashing her right cuff angrily across her eyes.

"What have we done?" whispered Colin.

"So, I told Romilda, 'well, Harry and I used to date,' and she was like, 'No bloody way!'…and then I…"

"Look, I'm sure you'll get along great with Romilda, but I really have to…" Harry tried to take his hand off the table, but Cho grabbed it with a fervent look in her eyes. Her other hand came up to stroke it gently.

"I have to…" began Harry again, racking his brains for something he had to do.

She pretended not to hear. "You know, Madame Puddifoot's has an offer right now. Five-course Turkey a la king set meal for only five Sickles per head. You want to go for it?"

"Later, thanks," said Harry, extricating his hand as she skilfully tried to intertwine her fingers with his, hastily finishing his sundae with his other hand and dropping two Sickles on the table. "Uhh…I have to go meet someone." He rose and tried to evacuate before anything happened.

"Hey, don't go so fast, Harry," chided Cho Chang mockingly. "It's very rude to abandon a girl you know, especially when she's your ex-girlfriend…"

She had a hand on his arm now, and he tried angrily to shake it off. What in the world did she think she was doing? His face burned with anger and embarrassment.

"Let…go…of…me…now!" he hissed.

People were starting to look around now. Harry swore, tore his arm loose and made for the door, only for his entire world to collapse around him.

The hurt look on Ginny's face was unmistakable. Her chocolate eyes were drooped and moist, but the fact that really tore Harry's heart to pieces was the fact that she wasn't mad, wasn't angry, wasn't pissed off…just disappointed and heart-broken.

Then she Disapparated.

Harry reached out an arm, as if to follow her, then stopped. He swore as he shot a furious glance at Cho and stormed out of the shop, Disapparating from the sidewalk outside.

Cho, finally understanding the enormity of the situation, thoroughly regretted her hasty, impassioned actions. This was not what she wanted to do to Harry. She didn't want to leave a bitter after-taste in Harry's mouth as to who or what Cho Chang was. She wasn't a vengeful slut who intended to ruin Harry's life for her own selfish needs. She wasn't!

Almost close to tears herself, she Disapparated too.

The entire exchange had taken place without a word, and it was thirty-eight seconds exactly since Harry had risen from his seat.

_**No. 3, Godric's Hollow.**_

Marble monuments dotted the landscape, each a testimony to the fallen witch or wizard who lay beneath. Ordinary people, they were businessmen, merchants, engineers, artists, Ministry employees, people from all walks of life…who had banded together under the aegis of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix to combat the menace of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

The private cemetery was heavily-warded against Muggle or wizard intrusion, and only accessible to certain people through a footpath.

The footpath wound its way through an impressive garden of lilies. In spring, a shimmering golden carpet of tiger lilies streaked with black spots covered the fields, and shady trees lined the footpath.

Harry walked through the field, now covered with snow. He knew very well what the tiger lily connoted, and his destination was the grave of one Lily Evans Potter, which was at the end of the footpath, amongst the cluster of Order of the Phoenix tablets that surrounded it.

Tiger lilies, he thought. They meant "I dare you to love me", he remembered. He shook his head to clear his head of random thoughts, glancing at the graves along the path.

On each and every headstone of white marble, a phoenix was etched in and coloured a brilliant fiery red, streaked with orange and yellow. The artist must have done them magically, for the symbol looked almost alive, so realistic it was.

Harry glanced at the first grave. A golden legend read "Benjy Fenwick", along with a picture of a smiling man with a blue bowler hat that had a feather perched in it. The next grave was the same, phoenix and all. Only the picture changed and the name was different. Dorcas Meadowes. A black woman wearing a blouse, golden hoop earrings and a scarf tied around her pigtailed black hair stared back at Harry and waved happily.

Harry passed more names, then stopped at a monument that marked the halfway mark on the park's winding footpath. Tears stung the back of his eyes, but not for the man that this monument marked, no. He had accepted his death and moved on already. But still he lingered at this memorial.

A square block of white marble was the roost of a gigantic phoenix, huge, fiery, orange and red feathers swept back, two clawed feet standing protectively on either side of a nest of eggs. Four eggs.

He knew that on each of those eggs was etched a crest. The Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and – yes, that too – the Slytherin coat of arms. Very few people knew this. Even fewer knew that on the inside of the nest was emblazoned the Hogwarts crest, while upon the inside walls were carved the words, "Draco Dormiens Numquam Titillandus."

Four animals adorned the four corners of the block of white marble. The first was a realistic lion, crouched ready to spring on the north corner of the block, regal golden fur topped with a beautiful brown mane. Four cubs, two male and two female, stood protectively about the lion. A yellow eagle on the west corner spread its wings, about to take off, beak stretched open in defiant cry, egrets between its legs.

The south corner was guarded by a ferocious badger, claw raised in mid-air, killing-stroke frozen and memorialized forever, while its offspring clustered about its flanks. The east corner sported a cobra, hood raised, fangs extended, coiled protectively about a clutch of eggs, one of which had cracked open and exposed a baby snake.

The north-west face of the marble block had gold lettering on it. "_The Garden of the Phoenixes. In Memoriam: Albus Dumbledore_."

But Harry knew the august Headmaster's body did not lie here. The founder of the Order of the Phoenix lay on the lawns of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he had given his life to safeguard Harry, Draco Malfoy, Snape and the rest of the school.

He thought back to the final battle as he continued the walk down the path, which circled the grave and led to the very center. Malfoy, Snape and Peter Pettigrew had turned on their master. Wormtail, who finally redeemed himself as a Marauder, giving his life to weaken Voldemort. Snape, who lived up to the dead Headmaster's expectations, together with his protégé, Malfoy, passing on secrets to the Trio, revealing the Horcrux locations time and time again.

Harry sighed, as he passed by the graves of Malfoy and Snape. As he squatted down in front of Malfoy's grave, the square-jawed wizard in the picture scowled, then relaxed his features to almost benevolence. Harry still remembered his last words.

"…_forgive me, Harry…"_

He looked to the other grave, on the right. Severus Snape stared back at him calmly, giving a curt nod. Harry could remember his last words too, as the Half-Blood Prince died in his arms, delivered calmly, with a complete lack of anger or mockery. Full of peace, calm…and an adoration equal, if not more, as that shown by his godfather Sirius.

"…James saved my life, but you saved my soul. How I hate you Potters…" And his finger traced Harry's scar with exact precision, recalling the great skill of the Potions master, strength now dwindling with each millimetre travelled. At the tip of the lightning-bolt the finger fell away, and Severus Snape exhaled his last.

Harry blinked to clear away the memories, pulled his winter robes tighter around him to clear the sudden chill, and continued down the winding path that led to the epicentre of the entire park. Finally, he reached it. Set like a bulls' eye in the center of the circular cemetery.

A marble square, slightly smaller than the one which marked Dumbledore's passing, announced to all the four graves that lay here. This time, the face was pointed to the four compass-points, north, south, east and west, instead of the corners. Two graves lay next to each other, facing north. Two others faced west and south.

Pointing towards the north face, a magnificent twenty-point stag regally surveyed the north section of the park, while a graceful doe nuzzled its neck, flank pressed against flank. Along the rim of the north edge, a row of carved tiger lilies adorned the marble.

To the west, a great black hound was captured forever in mid-woof, joyful glee caught in every inch of the heaving flanks, a dog-collar lying broken at his feet. The south face of the marble square featured a mouse sitting on several sheets of parchment, quill in inkpot and wand in hand. A thoroughly embarassed grin was caricatured.

The east face held no grave, but Remus Lupin had already made arrangements for it. A werewolf would stand demurely, legs together like a house-trained dog, quill, wand and parchment at its feet, robes pooled about its hind legs. When the time came, a marble she-werewolf would be added to the tableau.

Harry made his way to the north face, and sat down heavily on the wooden bench that faced the marble. It was a cul-de-sac, bordered by gardens, and the bench was set at the end of the footpath.

This was the garden he, Harry, had built. The resting ground for many witches and wizards of the Order of the Phoenix. The Garden of the Phoenixes.

He sat down for a moment, staring at the stag and its doe. Then at the photographs of the two people the statues represented.

_Lily Evans Potter_, one read. _James Charlus Potter_, read the other.

His mum and dad. Harry scooted over a bit so he was perched on the corner of the bench closest to them.

"Hi, Mum. Dad. I've been having a bit of trouble, really. Y'see…there's this witch I like, you know, named Ginny Weasley…smart, pretty, all the usual ones…bit like you really, mum, she's got this gorgeous long red hair too…and, uh…I'm thinking of getting married."

Talking with his parents had become almost commonplace to Harry. He wasn't sure whether it was some form of psychosis or something, but somehow it soothed him to lay bare his feelings before the two silent marble headstones in front of him. More likely it was just that the peaceful surroundings of the park allowed him to order his thoughts properly, but…Harry didn't really know or care.

"I've got a ring already. Emerald and ruby, it's really brilliant. I'm hoping it'll be a marriage with all the joy and understanding you two had as well…I don't know…"

Harry sighed. "Sometimes I lie awake at night…and I…I wonder whether I've made the right choice. I wonder whether she's made the right choice. I wonder what peopel normally do after being married. I wonder how to propose to her. Ever have that problem, Dad? It's so scary all of a sudden, and us guys aren't supposed to be scared, and things like that…"

His voice trailed off. "And this afternoon," he said, beginning anew, "I ran in with Cho. You know who she is. Blimey, I didn't know she was…she was…so irritating. I wonder how I put up with her all fifth-year. And she wanted to have dinner, or something like that…revive our almost non-existent relationship…and I didn't want to!"

Harry's voice had almost raised to a shout. He was furious at the injustice of it all. "I didn't want to," he repeated. "I love Ginny. I love her so much I thought I would tear apart when Voldemort captured her during the battle."

He relived that nightmare again…_Voldemort's cackling laughter…his casual killing of Dawlish, Sturgis Podmore and Gawain Robards, who had accosted him during the battle…Ginny's forced calm as she was bound to a wooden post…then, when the final confrontation was over, the tears as she held his battered body close and whispered, "Don't go…I don't know how to live without you…"_

"And then she walked in, and saw us," he said dully. "Life is so unfair, Mum. And it's always unfair in other people's favour, not mine…but hey, I wouldn't want it any other way. If it means Neville has to have this scar and…and everything, then I wouldn't want it that way.

"I don't know whether my dreams will come true or not. I can tell you it's mighty boring waiting and waiting and waiting. But if it means someone is miserable because I have a good life, then it's just a bloody waste."

Far away, a pair of birds twittered in the branches of an evergreen. A curious squirrel ran down from one of the trees, and stared at Harry. Then, shrugging, the squirrel scampered away. The silence returned.

"It's been heaven, Mum, Dad, these past few weeks. Everything's over, and I'm happy for the first time in my life. Soon I'll either be happier than I've ever been, or I'll have to step out of the way. I promise I won't forget you two, whatever happens."

A footstep crunched in the snow and gravel behind him. Harry whirled around, wand flipping out with practised ease into his fingers.

The sole Weasley female in generations stood before him, all traces of anger or hurt gone. Her face was blank, but a quiver in her voice told him she was fighting back the tears.

"Harry…I…I…didn't…" she began.

"Gin…I'm sorry, I…" His voice trailed off.

Harry's eyes were smarting now, and then – suddenly, like Apparating – she was in his arms, hands holding tight to his back, and kissing him…tears blinded both, and flowed freely down cheeks before freezing in the cold.

Ginny cried quietly into his shoulder, as he awkwardly stroked the hair on the back of her head, the wildflower scent roaring in his nostrils, the monster in his chest roaring approval, the ring in his pocket roaring to be set free, to sparkle in the daylight, to grace the finger of the woman he loved.

"I was so scared," whispered Ginny, wiping her eyes on Harry's chest. "I really…I mean…Fred and Colin took pictures of you two, and I…"

"Shhh, be quiet," said Harry, but he swore inwardly. He was going to jinx Fred's unmentionables off if the Weasley did not stop this nonsense. No doubt he was trying to help – that much had been made clear to Harry after the dinner fiasco – but this was twice already that such 'help' had backfired!

Never mind. Fred and George would have one more chance.

Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes

"You took your time getting the cure. I already sorted the boils out," grumbled George as Fred darted into the busy shop.

"Oh, was it Murtlap essence?" asked Fred. "Damn, what the hell am talking about!" Quickly he filled George in on everything that had happened.

"Shite," muttered George. "Where's Harry now?"

"I don't know. He's gone. Poof. Vanished. Disapparated somewhere," said Fred.

"P'raps he's at the Burrow?" pondered George.

"No. Not there, I checked. Maybe at Grimmauld Place?"

"You know he hates that place, Fred, old chap," said George. "Maybe Hogwarts?"

"Tchah, whatever for?" scoffed Fred.

"Well what other places are there? The Ministry of Magic?" George spread his hands. "The only places he goes to when he's not working at the Ministry are the Burrow or our shop…"

"No bloody idea," said Fred.

The Garden of Phoenixes 

They sat together on the bench, Harry's cloak wrapped about them, their body heat creating a cocoon of warmth which the cloak helped maintain. Ginny's head rested on his chest, in the hollow his neck. His head leaned on hers, the red hair brushing delicately against his cheek and the heady wildflower-scent in his nostrils.

Her arms were wrapped around him. Her fingers on one hand was intertwined with his. Harry's right arm was wrapped protectively around her shoulder, pulling her tight and keeping the cloak wrapped tight about them. It had been an hour since Ginny had subsided, and she was sleeping, sometimes making little purring noises as she snuggled up to him.

Finally, she stirred, moulding her body even closer to Harry's, then sitting bolt upright with a jerk.

"How…how long…?" she began, then caught the grin on his face. Smiling, she pulled him into a tight embrace and kissed him chastely on the lips.

"An hour plus," he said, grinning. "You slept the whole time."

"Yeah, I…uh…" she began sheepishly, "always sleep when I'm unhappy. It's my way of getting away from it all, and I can think about the problem in my sleep and try to solve it."

"Oh?" smiled Harry. Now's as good a time as any, mate, he thought. Time to pop the question. Yeah.

"Umm, Ginny," he began, fumbling in his slacks pocket, "there's something I have to tell you…"

"Well go on," she said. "Don't keep me waiting…"

"Uh…Ginny, will you…uh…" he began, but something caught in his throat. "Uh…we've been together quite a…I mean…uh…"

"What is it?" asked Ginny concernedly. She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. "You're so cute when you're nervous…"

The physical contact shattered what was left of Harry's courage. Shoving the ring back in his pocket, he forced himself to smile.

"Oh, nothing. It's slipped my mind."

_DAMN IT, POTTER!_ he though wildly.


	4. Act 4: The Final Countdown

_**ACT 4: The Final Countdown**_

_**The Burrow,**_

_**25 December.**_

Harry fingered the ring gingerly. It was eleven o' clock, and the Christmas party was still in full swing. He had vowed to himself to tell her today, but somehow he hadn't gotten the chance to get Ginny alone throughout the evening…

He took another sip of mulled mead. Across the table, Remus Lupin was actually grinning and Tonks was giggling madly about some private joke, while Ron and Hermione were sitting next to Harry, whispering sweet nothings into the other's ear.

"You know what, Ron?" he said finally, as Ron came up for air, "you two ought to get married."

Ron turned a delicate shade of puce.

"Great idea," enthused Hermione. "What do you say?" she said, nudging Ron.

Ron turned even whiter, if it was possible, forcibly reminding Harry of Nearly-Headless Nick.

"Er…I…uh…I…"

"Of course not," said Hermione, giggling. "We're way too young, aren't we," she said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Ron gave Harry a helpless look as Charlie, watching the exchange, dissolved in mirth.

The gardens of the Burrow were festooned with fairy lights – and a roll of Christmas lights Harry had given Mr. Weasley for his Christmas present. It looked somewhat awkward, a fusion of Muggle technology and magical wizardry.

On the dance floor that had been conjured up in the garden, Harry watched as Fred and Angelina danced to a slow Weird Sisters number that played from Mrs. Weasley's magical radio.

Then Harry felt smooth, slim hands slide along his, the fingers at the end of it delicately brushing the backs of his hands all the way to the end, and then intertwining themselves with his.

Hot breath warmed his cheek, as Ginny kissed him softly. "Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself," said Harry.

"You don't look like you're having a good time," she said, sitting down next to him.

"Well I am, actually," he lied. "What's not to love about this?" he asked. "Everyone's safe, the war's over, Voldemort's dead, and we've only to pick up the pieces and live a normal life. Happily ever after. The end."

"Something wrong?" she said, putting a hand on the nape of his neck and squeezing hard. "I can see it in your eyes. Are you hiding something from me?"

Silence. As Ginny's fingers kneaded the back of his neck, Harry watched as Hermione persuaded Ron to dance with her.

"It's them, isn't it?" she said decisively. "Feeling like a third wheel?"

_Merlin, she understood him so well_, thought Harry. "No," he lied again.

"You can't lie to me, Potter. I know all about you. Every nook and cranny of your dirty, disgusting mind," grinned Ginny. She leaned in close and laid her head on his shoulder.

"You need something to take your mind off, loosen up, occupy yourself," she said.

"Any ideas?" Harry quirked an eyebrow.

"I could think of some…"

"Like what?"

"A passionate tryst in a forbidden broom cupboard…"

"You mean all night?" said Harry loudly.

"Quiet!" hissed Ginny. "Idiot!"

"Sorry," he whispered.

"We could also go for a walk…go sight-seeing…window-shopping…"

"Star-gazing…" murmured Harry dreamily.

He hastily clammed up as Fred passed by, clutching a goblet of mead.

"Wanna help me light off the fireworks?" he asked jovially.

"Nah, no thanks," said Harry.

"Cheers, then," called Fred over his shoulder. His smile vanished as he left the table, and he jerked his wrist upwards to reel in the Disillusioned Extendable Ear.

"You're quite sure you heard that?" asked George.

"That I did, dear brother…" said Fred, slapping his goblet – recently drained of mead – onto the table.

"Then it is our duty…"

"…_sworn_ duty, dear chap…"

"…although painful it is…"

"…too bloody right…" muttered Fred, rubbing the weal where Harry had struck him with a Stinging Hex.

"…that we must ensure…"

"…and safeguard…"

"…uphold and protect…"

"…our dear baby sister's chastity!" they said in unison.

"_All night _indeed," grumbled George. "And they're not even _married_!"

"We'll dog Potter's footsteps," said Fred, pounding his fist into his palm. "HE"S NOT GETTING NEAR MY BABY SISTER!"

"Where is he, by the way?" asked George.

Fred looked around wildly. "Blimey, that berk sure works his magic fast!"

They ran over to where Charlie was having a chat with Lupin and Tonks.

"Where is Harry?" said Fred urgently.

"I don't know, last thing I saw he was heading that way…" said Lupin, gesturing with his thumb.

"Thanks, mate!" said George.

Stoatshead Hill 

The crest of Stoatshead Hill was quiet at night, with all the little critters keeping clear of the top where an owl or a sharp-eyed eagle could easily spot them and swoop in on the unfortunate creature.

Harry laid his cloak down on the grass and snow, and settled down comfortably on the warm fabric with his back propped up against a beech tree. Ginny snuggled up against him, eyes searching the heavens for tiny winking flashes of light.

"Look," said Ginny. "The North Star." She pointed up at a bright glimmering, shimmering sparkle of light that reminded Harry painfully of the ring that still lay nestled in his pocket.

"Yeah. And there's Sirius!"

"And the Big Dipper!" Ginny said. A moment later she sneezed.

"Snuggle up closer, you might catch cold," said Harry, with a wicked grin.

"Oh, I think I will," laughed Ginny.

It sounded like silvery bells to Harry's ears. He watched her pearly teeth flash in the dark.

"If only your brothers knew that we're up here," he said.

"Then be thankful they don't, else the Big Brother Brigade will have something to say about your chill-prevention methods."

They stayed that way a long time, just talking. Talking about friends, family…each other. It seemed a century ago when Harry would sit with Ginny, and both would be tongue-tied…he not knowing what to say, she struggling with her crush for him.

He fingered the ring in his pocket, feeling the weight of the little velvet box against his thigh. There was a time when Harry would have said, "_Wait for later. We're too young. What if she rejects me? No, I'll wait till I know for absolute sure…" _And he would not have gotten the courage to do what he would now do.

But their fight with Voldemort and countless close brushes with death had taught both of them one thing. Sometimes, you couldn't wait. When you were sure of your love, then nothing should be allowed to stand in the way. This life is too short to be wasted hemming and hawing, fretting and procrastinating.

"Umm…Ginny?" began Harry.

"Yes?" she said, as she turned her eyes on Harry. Chocolate, dark-brown eyes, full of love, affection…hope.

"Will you…"

They made it there just in time. Wands out, the twins cast bright beams of light on the couple hidden partially by a bush and a winter cloak. Fumbling and jerky movements rustled the bush periodically, sending showers of leaves and twigs down on the cloak.

"We've got you now!" shouted Fred triumphantly.

"What do you think you're doing?" yelled George, his wand pointed at the entertwined bodies on the ground.

A cloak mercifully covered them, but a wisp of red hair peeking out of the top of the cloak clued the twins in immediately on their identities.

"Come out of there, the two of you," warned Fred.

"We don't want to hex you," said George warningly.

"Go away!" came a muffled, masculine voice.

"One…" said Fred, raising his wand.

"Two…" said George, louder.

"All right," said the muffled voice, along with a muffled swear word.

"We're coming out," said the other. "Since that's what you want…"

Two figures rose up out of the cloak, angry expressions on their faces.

The beams of light from the tips of Fred's and George's wands left no doubt as to their identities as the Weasley twins closed in.

"R-Ron?" stammered Fred.

"H-H-Hermione?" squeaked George, his wand-arm trembling.

The bushy haired witch's eyes flashed dangerously. Ron's wand was out, and as Fred glanced nervously at it as red sparks shot out of the tip.

"I have had enough!" declared Hermione furiously. "If it's not Harry sniggering every time I talk to Ron, it's you two interrupting our time together!"

"Sand in our beds, endless ragging, catcalls, wolf whistles…" grumbled Ron.

"…Decoy Detonators, trick items constantly being used on us, Stinging Hexes and Stunners…" rambled Hermione.

"…constant and incessant harrassment…" continued Ron.

"But…but…but…" blubbered Fred, but the furious couple silenced him.

"No buts! We have had enough!" yelled Ron.

"Twenty four hours a day of this, that and the other!" raged Hermione.

As Fred and George turned and bolted, Ron and Hermione raised their wands as one.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The Burrow 

"The fireworks are ready to be set off," muttered Tonks. "And the stars are not here. Where are Fred, George, Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny?" Her bubblegum-pink hair was turning violet, then orange, red, green, then pink again as she chewed nervously on a Pumpkin pastie.

"Oh, that's simple," said Lupin. "Fred and George are being hexed to blazes, Ron and Hermione are pissed off, and Harry is snogging Ginny on Stoatshead Hill."

"And just how did you know all this, my clever werewolf?" smiled Tonks, leaning in to kiss his cheek, stumbling over a chair leg and ending up with her lips firmly glued to Lupin's ear.

"Elementary, my foxy little minx. I deduced it all from the facts that were laid out before me."

"Really?"

Lupin sighed. "No. Harry got me to misdirect the twins while he had a quiet moment with Ginny. So I told them to look in the front lawn."

"Knowing Ron and Hermione were snogging there," said Tonks.

"Guilty as charged," said Lupin, inclining his head.

"Gather round, everybody!" shouted Bill from one end of the garden.

"Because this lot's going _UP_!" yelled Charlie.

Hand in hand, the werewolf and the Metamorphmagus headed to the center of the garden.

Stoatshead Hill 

As the first Weasleys' Wild-fire Whiz-Bang soared into the air and exploded in a multi-coloured conflagration of fire, Harry knelt down before Ginny in the snowy grass of Stoatshead Hill. For a moment he had a fleeting burst of nerves, then quelled it forcefully, looking up at the fiery-haired girl standing in front of him.

Not now, not when all this is done… 

"Gin…all through our Hogwarts days, we've had loads of fun together," he began awkwardly, but his voice grew louder as he spoke. "We've been through so much together. Our days when we were dating…when we were together…it was sheer heaven for me."

Ginny stood, bewildered at this sudden torrent.

"I've been searching my soul these past few weeks, and what I find there is a revelation. I love you. I love you more than life itself. And…and I've realized that I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

He stood up, deftly extracting the ring from his robe pocket. He held Ginny's hand, and gazed into her eyes. He could lose himself in their depths forever.

"Ginny Weasley…will you marry me?" he whispered.

Harry waited for her reply with tremulous heart. He could count his own heartbeats. Ginny's face was devoid of all signs, except perhaps a faint smile, which could mean anything…

Thud…thud…thud…thud…thud…thud…thud…thud…thud…thud… 

"Yes, Harry Potter. I love you too," she whispered, tears of joy sliding down her cheeks. "I love you I love you I love you I love you I…"

Harry pulled her close, kissing her on her lips, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and entered into the most passionate, fiery kiss that had ever graced their relationship.

After what seemed like hours of the most blissful, heavenly, wonderful, _divine _period of time Harry had ever experienced, he drew back, leaving a lingering warmth upon his lips.

As his senses rushed back to him, Harry could hear the blasts of the fireworks display.

"Pluck a hair from your head," he said.

She did so, handing him the longest, most beautiful strand of hair ever. He picked one from his own scalp, unruly, windswept and jet-black. Holding the two fibres in one hand and the ring in the other, Harry touched their ends to the surface of the gold band.

The two rings glowed crimson and greenish-black, twining around each other and the golden ring, weaving and interlacing, until the last of the hair wrapped around the setting that held the two jewels in place, side by side. The ring glowed red and green-black for a moment, shivered, then lay motionless in Harry's palm.

As he slid the ring onto Ginny's finger, the Weasley rockets sent a shower of sparkling hearts all over Stoatshead Hill.

"I love you, Gin."

"I love you too, Harry."

The End Mischief Managed! 


End file.
